Authors: Kirsty Greenwood
There must be a charger somewhere around here. I drag open a couple of drawers and route through among the standard fare of notepads and pens and elastic bands.
No charger. Humph.
I run my eyes along the skirting boards, searching for plug sockets in case a charger has been left in. But nope. No luck.
What I do spot though, the corner of which sticks out from under a filing cabinet, is an envelope. Which wouldn't be very exciting except for that it has HARRINGTON scrawled on the front in thick black ink.
It's none of my business.
It's wrong to snoop.
But is says Harrington, which must mean Riley.
My nosiness gets the better of me and I creep over to the filing cabinet.
What? Sleeping with Riley might have been a huge mistake but if there's a secret file about him and The Old Whimsy then I want to know about it, not least because it might be important info for all the nice people I've met who are working so hard to save the pub.
I check that the door is definitely closed before I creep over to the filing cabinet. I pull the envelope out with a swift yank.
It's sealed.
An annoying goody two shoes voice inside my head tells me that it's soooo not on to open a sealed envelope. It's against the law or something. If I'm caught and arrested I won't even have the power of lying to wriggle my way out of it. I'll get a criminal record. I could end up going to jail and having to develop a new persona. The persona of a woman not to be messed with because jail is dangerous. I'd probably have to shave my head and get a tattoo. I find my mind wandering briefly into the realms of tattoo designs I might consider and then realise where I am and what I'm doing.
I turn the envelope over in my hands. I should put it back. I'm going to put it back and get out of here. I’m treading a crazily fine line between curiosity and crime.
I bend down to shove the envelope back under the filing cabinet, but then I hear a shuffling noise outside. And then some footsteps.
Balls! Someone's coming!
I run around in a semicircle, the envelope in my hand. Eek! EEK! Just as the door opens I panic and shove the envelope down the back of my pants.
“
Natalie!
”
It's Jasper, looking astonished and unimpressed that I'm in his office.
He shakes his head and blinks hard as if he can hardly believe I'm there. I can kind of understand his grievance with me. I must be really starting to get on his nerves.
Damn
. He's going to ask me what I'm doing in here, and then I'm going to have to tell him the truth, that I'm snooping and stealing stuff from him. He'll probably call the police. But then the police won't be able to get here because of the snow. And Jasper will have to sit on me until the snow melts and law enforcement arrives. That sounds horrendous. Before I get myself into even more of a mess by getting arrested, I make an executive decision. There's only one thing I can do.
Leg it.
I jog right out of the office, down the corridor, through the amazingly grand entrance hall and out the front door of Hobbs Manor. I don't even get time to say goodbye to Alfred Hobbs or wait for Meg. I run - with an envelope tucked down by my arse - all the way back to the village.
Unless you count the fact that I ran all the way back here, slipping three times in the snow, and have numb feet and an inability to breathe properly because of poor fitness levels, I reach my room back at The Old Whimsy with no problems.
It's still early so thankfully there's no one around to bother me.
I get to my room and pull off my clothes, changing into the navy dressing gown Riley lent me. As I pull it on I catch the scent of washing powder mixed with Riley's aftershave, which is some kind of sandalwood and spiced orange combination. My tummy flips as I inhale it. Mmmmmm.
NO! Do not think about that. That is over. That was a one night stand. Or a one night and one afternoon stand. Whatever. It's done.
I take the envelope from where it lies beside me on the bed and, heart galloping at super speed, I gently tug it open, being careful not to rip the paper.
What kind of a person have I become?!
I empty the contents onto the blanket beside me. It's a load of letters and pieces of papers and ooh, a few photographs.
I go straight to the photographs.
The first one is of two toddler boys. One with messy blonde hair and one with close cropped dark hair. They're sat on a chequered picnic blanket in the sunshine and are eating biscuits. It's clearly an old photograph, the image slightly softer than photos nowadays, and with a sepia tint to it.
I flip it over
.
R
iley and Robbie
1987 August
What? Why the heck has Jasper Hobbs got a picture of Riley when he was a kid?
I rifle through the other photos. There's one of two women and a bloke. The guy is clearly Alfred Hobbs, even back then, without the long dramatic beard, he still has that aura of power and charisma. He has his arms around two women, one blonde and chubby, one slight and brunette. I turn it over.
Mary and Edna and Me. 1982
Hmmm. That's definitely Mary Harrington. I remember her face from the picture on the internet.
I shuffle through the rest of the photographs. There's one of a glamorous, tall pregnant woman wearing a silver dress with big puffed up sleeves. She looks like something out of
Dynasty
.
Anna pregnant with Jasper 1984
So Anna must be Jasper's mother.
I pull open a piece of folded paper. It's not as thin and delicate as the others. It's thick white paper. Fresh paper.
Oh! It's a photocopy of Alfred Hobbs’ will. I scan through it. Of course, it leaves everything to the rightful heir Jasper Hobbs.
And then I pull open a letter. The bottom of the paper is torn off. The handwriting loops and swirls elegantly across the page in black ink. I read what's left of it.
Dear Alfred,
I am three months pregnant with your child. I understand that this is not what you want to hear, having only just gotten engaged to Anna, but I feel it is something you need to know.
I am perfectly happy as a single woman and lord knows what I was thinking three months ago at the barn dance. Perhaps I wasn't thinking. Nostalgia and scrumpy turned me into a fool and do not wish for anything to change.
I do not wish for you to be in his life. It would do nobody any good. I do not ask for any money from you. We have all we need. If m
And that's where the letter is torn.
Oh my gosh. I sit there staring into space as the photos and the stories about Mary Harrington and the letter, surely written by Mary, spin around my head and then settle into place.
I can't believe what I've found out.
Riley is Alfred’s son!
What the frick am I supposed to do with information like this? The more I think about it, the more I realise the implications of what I've just discovered.
If Riley is Alfred's
first born
son, then surely he is entitled to make a claim on the Hobbs Estate?
I take a deep breath.
This isn't any of my business.
Mary obviously didn't want Riley to know that Alfred is his real father. She would have told him if she did. She clearly didn't want anyone to know about her affair with Alfred. It's not really my place to share that, is it? Not when she can't even defend herself...
What on earth am I supposed to do?
I don't get time to figure out the answer to that because the door knocks, and in bursts Meg.
Our conversation is awkward to say the least, neither of us willing to ask about what went on last night.
After an exchange about the weather (still snowing but less so), Honey (Meg feels that having a fight is a rite of passage and agrees with me that Honey is the loopiest, meanest, prettiest girl any of us have ever met), and the smell of my hair (a brand new shampoo in
the shower -
this time apple and cinnamon), I bite the bullet and ask her outright.
“
Why aren't you telling me about last night?
”
I demand, folding my arms.
“
I saw the pair of you
in flagrante delicto
! I know the truth!
”
Her face goes absolutely bright red and she gasps.
“
What? I didn't do anything!
”
she sits down on the bed, not meeting my eye.
“
I walked in on you, Meg! Why are you denying it? I saw you with your legs in the air. I saw your dress on the floor? Didn't you know it was me?
”
Meg shakes her head.
“
Shit. I must have been too distracted to notice anyone coming in. I thought we were the only ones in the house.
”
Why is she acting weird? Is she embarrassed? Everyone’s allowed to have sex. Sure, I walked in on her and stood watching for a few seconds longer than necessary, but that's no reason to act like a lunatic.
“
I really like him.
”
She shrugs, smiling more to herself than to me.
“
Well, I knew that. We all did,
”
I say, rolling my eyes.
“
You did?
”
she frowns.
What is wrong with her? She's had Jasperitis practically since we got here.
“
Of course!
”
“
Oh, Natalie. He makes me laugh so much, and he's so sweet and he seems to really like me too. He makes me feel like the me I always wanted to be. Like I can really be somebody. Like I can make it as a singer!
”
Wow. I don't know whether to be more surprised that this is evidently more than a sex thing for her or that Jasper can be described as funny and sweet. Well, they do say, you don't
really
know other people’s relationships.
I peer at her. She looks truly happy. Flushed and relaxed and giddy.
“
I'm happy for you,
”
I say. I am. If my best friend has found love, whoever it might be with, then I'm happy for her.
“
Really? Are you?
”
she asks, though it's not that she doubts the truth, just that she
wants to hear me say it again.
“
Really. Truly.
”
“
Please be my friend again. I'm sorry!
”
It's Dionne. After Meg left to get some food, she blasted into my room and is staging a sit in on my bed until I forgive her. Part of me longs to do what I would normally do and roll my eyes, give her a hug and agree to forget about it because we're sisters. But I don't know. This past week, I seem to have gotten harder. No, harder isn't the right word. More assertive, that's it. I'm not feeling the overwhelming need for peace. It's like it's only just occurred to me that sometimes you can be mad at people. Sometimes you can fall out and it's okay.
“
Dionne, I really don't want to talk to you right now. Please leave.
”
“
But... Jean-Paul Gaultier misses you.
”
I sigh, glancing over as Jean-Paul Gaultier pokes out his tongue, desperate to lick me. I hold my hand out to him, ruffling the soft fur behind his ears.
“
Look Dionne,
”
I say.
“
I'm mad. I'm allowed to be mad at you.
”
“
But…
you're never mad.
”
“
Well, now I am. Please leave. I'll talk to you when I'm ready.
”
And then her attempt at making up reveals itself to be as flimsy as I suspected and her face drops.
“
I don't believe you! You have no right to be mad. It's your fault that I'm stuck here. You haven't given a thought to how this, like, affects me. Oh poor Natalie, poor Hypnotised Natalie. And Olly! What must he be feeling right now? You don't give a shit. You're changing. It's like this past week you've become someone else. You're selfish! You’re...
hard.
”
I've had enough of this. I don't need it anymore; I don't have to put up with it.
I stand up and taking Dionne firmly by the hand march her out of my room, slamming the door behind her.
“
I'm staying in my room and I'm not coming out. Please leave me alone. I do not wish to talk to you.
”
I hear her cry with protest. I don't care.